Abracadabra. vol zero: printed newsprint paper, greyboard, aluminium tape; 3 x 38,25 x 26,25 cm (edition of 20)
Abracadabra. vol zero: installation view at Nieves, Zurich 2016
Abracadabra. vol zero: installation view at Nieves, Zurich 2016
Abracadabra. vol zero: installation view at Nieves, Zurich 2016
Abracadabra. vol zero, 2016 (ongoing series)
printed newsprint paper, greyboard, aluminium tape
3 x 38,25 x 26,25 cm (edition of 20)
I dance in and with the open evening sky without any other human being present. Using the camera as a drawing pen, to capture traces of my own movements as well as those of my environment. The overexposed and almost invisible records are printed on structured, light grey, shimmering in side light newsprint paper—all similar but never the same. There is no fixed order since the sheets are unstapled they can be flipped, turned, re-ordered. The materials are all beautifully mundane and selected carefully. The exact origin of the word ‹Abracadabra› is up for debate; according to various dictionaries it is defined as both ‹magic powers› and ‹gibberish› or ‹nonsense›.
Nieves, Zurich 2016
Abracadabra. vol zero is part of an ongoing series and comes in an edition of 20. The work is shown in a casual way, laying on a common table lit with a day light lamp. The viewer is asked to open the box at a whim, to leaf through the pages, and actively engage with it. The work was first shown to a wider audience on the premises of Nieves publishing in Zurich. With a cup of tea, within the frame of a conversation between the curator Elina Suoyrjö, the artist Beatrice Lozza and all attendees.
The stuff in between things
by Elina Suoyrjö, independent curator and writer
for Beatrice Lozza and Abracadabra. vol zero, 2016
It’s early summer. I encounter Abracadabra. vol zero at Beatrice’s studio. There is a cosy snug box, and inside it something else. I reach out and I start to turn pages, one after another. In the attentive early afternoon light, something starts happening – an unfolding of sorts. In this process, something starts slowly to reveal itself. I’m curious, a bit puzzled, a bit bewildered. Then, after a while, delighted, compassionate, smiling.
Abracadabra. vol zero is a work by Beatrice Lozza. It is a sculpture, a drawing made with a camera, and a publication. And it involves performative activity both on the artist’s part and on our part as viewers. Taking distance from words and images, the work experiments with the form of publication and the moment of activation with the viewer, making the experience a small, wondrous gift.
The encounter is necessary for Abracadabra. vol zero. Waiting in its box, the work shows us much patience. The unfolding that I speak of seems to be both an unfolding of the encounter between the artwork and us, as well as an unfolding of what the work holds. What it reveals seems to be about some kind of language and knowledge – but the language doesn’t consist of words, and the knowledge is not scientific kind.
The theme of the everyday is strongly present in Lozza’s practice. In her works, she often uses everyday materials, such as cardboard, threads, or different kinds of items found on the street for example. Lozza doesn’t see the sphere of art as something separate from our other daily realms. Her work strives to be many things simultaneously, always moving away from strict binaries and juxtapositions. Amongst other things, Abracadabra. vol zero is a newspaper – something very ordinary – yet it leads us to something that is rather extraordinary. We don’t need to do anything special in order to let this happen. We just need to give the work our attention, and some time.
For Lozza, the question with her work is what it does, rather than what it is. In the case of Abracadabra. vol zero, this is very subtle, nearly nothing. Yet, it is definitely something, and that something can turn out to be surprisingly powerful. There is something that happens, that is essentially between any graspable thing. Being puzzled, I normally would have tried to wrap my head around this and try to make sense of it. But this time I feel like I don’t need to understand it – I can just experience it.